


Rue's EgoTASTIC Whumptober :p

by rueandvalerie



Category: Mark Fischbach egos - Fandom, Youtuber Egos - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Blood, Concussions, Dangers In Fiction, Eye Gouging, Hurt No Comfort, Kidnapping, Mark Fischbach Egos, Medical Experimentation, Restraints, Torture, Whump, Whumptober 2020, YouTube
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26755981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rueandvalerie/pseuds/rueandvalerie
Summary: My Ego stories for 2020's Whumptober list. Tags and triggers will be added as I go, updates may vary because of work and school!
Kudos: 4
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Day 1: Waking Up Restrained (Host)

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise! I’m doing this now!!   
> This one might seem a little rushed since I had testing today, but I put my whole soul into it since this is a personal headcanon of mine in how The Author, well, stopped being an author. Enjoy and read the TWs!!
> 
> TWs for this chapter: Blood, concussions, kidnapping, restraints, amputation(? if eyes count), medical experimentation, torture, faceless captor, all around violent and creepy, but not too graphic.

The Author was suddenly awoken by the feeling of something digging into his wrists, his eyes flying open as he gave a pitiful yelp.

Where was he?! What happened to his shed- the bodies- his books-? He couldn’t have been caught. There would have been no way for anyone to know-!

He grunted lowly as he felt what he realized were harsh rope restraints tighten around him- his wrists, his neck, his stomach- his eyes squeezing back shut for a long moment as he tried to steel himself. He may not know what lead to him being here, or why he was being tied down to this damned chair, but he wasn’t giving this bastard any sense of satisfaction by seeing him in pain. He was a proud man, even in the face of death.

A chuckle came from the dark figure in front of him, the lack of lights besides the lamp shining all too brightly in his eyes making it difficult to see just who it was. He didn’t recognize the voice... who could have done this?

“Wh-What... the fuck am I doing here...?” he finally spoke up, his voice somewhat slurred.

He quickly deducted the other must have knocked him out at one point. The back of his head pounded and the wet feeling of blood soaked through his thick head of hair. But everything else remained a haze. His memory seemed almost... void. Cloudy.

“Ah... That is for me to know and you to find out, my darling little story teller...”

The Author mustered up a glare, narrowing his eyes at the unintelligible form in front of him. This bitch was probably just some crazy fan who got obsessed with the wrong writer. He could tear them to pieces if only he could get out of these stupid bonds-

“Hold on, not so fast~! I know about those abilities of yours, and I’ve made sure you’re tied down just right. You need to write in order to influence the world around you, don’t you? Which means in your current predicament you’re all but powerless... So fight if you want, but this will be much easier if you cooperate,” the voice purred, reaching out to cup his cheek.

The Author practically growled, jerking his head away. Though his violent movement caused a shift in the weight, making the chair fall back and slam against the ground, his head with it.

There was only a laugh above him as he tried to focus his vision again, frantic. He’d never been this scared before- How had he let this happen to himself?!

His captor cooed, tilting the light away to help him back up again and upright in his seat as he gently soothed the now agitated wound near the back of his neck, “See, my dear? As I said, it will only get worse the more you resist...”

He couldn’t help himself. The Author had always been cocky. He thought far too highly of himself, he thought he would be able to get himself out of this no matter the stakes. He’d survived this long without being caught- What was different about this situation?

“Fuck. You.” he spat, his chest heaving as he waited for some kind of response for what felt like minutes.

There was a considerable, almost physical change in the room, and the writer shivered as he felt the air almost grow colder.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The Author tensed, waiting for some form of retaliation, but nothing occurred. There were just a series of footsteps instead, leaving the room and going down some hallway he couldn’t see.

The Author didn’t quite know what the fuck he meant by that warning, but he wasn’t going to stick around to find out. He pulled at his restraints like a wild animal, gasping and practically screaming at how he remained completely bound. He had never felt this helpless before- he wasn’t supposed to be helpless. He was all-powerful, for Christ’s sake!

He swore under his breath at the sound of the crazed man returning, still struggling the best that he could.

It was no use. Whatever was about to happen, he couldn’t prevent it. His powers had limits, and he had reached them.

He noticed the glinting of what looked like a scalpel in the dim light, and he took a deep, shaky breath as he finally gave in, his own hubris deflating as he felt something inside of him break. He knew he had never been the best person, but he didn’t ever think the consequences of his actions would catch up to him.

He didn’t know what else he could do.

“....Please...”

He felt absolutely sick at having to say it out loud, and he cringed at the sound of his own voice. Especially when it dawned on him that apologizing or begging had been in vain either way.

There was a tutting sound as the man approached, passing the light and casting a terrifying shadow over his shaking captive. He reached out and caressed his cheek again, yet this time clutched the side of his head a little too gently yet all too forcefully as he spoke, “It’s too late for that, author... Though don’t worry. This is just an experiment of sorts. Why don’t we see if those eyes of yours are what gives you these powers. I mean, you can’t write if you can’t see, can you?”

Then he felt the blade slice into the corner of his eye socket.


	2. Day 2: In the Hands of the Enemy (Actor, Darkiplier)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s a little late because I was taking a mental health day, but it’s still a good one, promise lol. It’s sort of a continuation of my last Actor fic, which I should be posting on here soon because I might continue this storyline later! It’s very angsty uvu. Again: mind the TWs!
> 
> TWs for this chapter: Blood, kidnapping, demonic possession, memory loss, missing person, a brief mention of self harm.

“Damien... please... I- I don’t-“

“SHUT THE HELL UP!”

The actor winced at the harsh, rage filled voice that just didn’t fit his old friend, feeling another strike to his chest by what he could only assume was his own cane. He knew he had been responsible for at least some of this, but he was also missing so many pieces. He didn’t know how he got here since he was last conscious, he didn’t know what that demon had done to his ex loved ones, and he didn’t know how he was going to explain this to Dames.

He seemed.... so angry. What could have happened since the last time...?

He couldn’t quite slow his breathing, bound up and looking up at the mess the mayor had become after all these years.

He somehow appeared worse off than ever before, if that was even possible. The awful glitching form that housed his old souls almost completely tearing away from him several times.

And the screaming... echoing, ringing, violent screaming. He wanted to cover his ears, but he couldn’t escape it.

He could barely think in his haze of confusion and panic, though he could tell the other had changed since he last resurfaced, and that he’d need to figure it out before he received his arguably unearned retribution.

He had barely realized how long they had stayed in the silence since the last outburst, panicked gasping mingling with that wretched ringing noise, when Dark’s voice broke the silence again, almost desperate.

“I just want to know what you did to him.”

Mark shivered, looking down in guilt as he shook his head, “I don’t know- Really, Damien, I have no idea who you’re even talking about-“

Before he could say anymore, he felt something hit him much harder in the chest, causing all of the air to leave his lungs. He stayed silent for a moment, almost in shock as the pain spiraled out from his ribs.

Dark growled, “I know you’re lying. So what the fuck aren’t you telling me?!”

Mark just shook his head, the scars from years of self-mutilation starting to ooze fresh blood, which usually happened when he took control of the body again after some time.

“It wasn’t me.” Mark spat through his teeth, his lips bloodied and bruised.

“Like hell it wasn’t.” Dark forced his head up again to look at him, “You and I both know this wasn’t a part of the plan. Wilford was supposed to stay out of this. You’ve caused enough pain in his life, can’t you see that?!”

Those words made some of his blurry memories resurface, making him cough as he choked on the thick blood, “William...”

His head was slammed back against the concrete walls as the red aura sparked through him, making his skin tingle and burn in all the worst ways, “THAT ISN’T HIS NAME ANYMORE... you- you made sure of that!”

Mark knew he was close to losing control again. He could feel it, even with the blinding pain that threatened to put him back to sleep all on its own. He heaved deep breathes, a sudden urge overwhelming him when he thought of what was to come for the both of them. He weakly lifted his own head up again, looking Damien dead in the eye.

“I’m sorry, Damien. I- I’m so sorry-“

Dark was taken aback by those words, tears obviously welling up, though neither could tell if they were from pain or rage. There was a flash of movement, and Mark was sure he would be killed, once and for all-

Yet no pain fell upon him in that moment.

His eyes blinked open as he panted, realizing Dark had thrown himself at him, gripping him tightly as he remained tied down. He could feel the loneliness, the trauma, all of his years in the weight of his embrace.

“I’m sorry too.... please....... end this for us. For all of us.”

But before he could respond, before he could say all of the words he had been holding onto since this had all started- he felt the house take back control. He felt himself slipping back, the spirit banishing him back to that dark and maddening void he now called home.

There was yet to be any sign of the happy ending he’d been promised. For either of them.


End file.
